Scent
by Dachande72
Summary: The creature has but one purpose, but that purpose is many-fold. Can it complete the "task" or will it fall to the underhive?


_The creature had taken many thoughts since it's arrival. It had seen many sights and felt many minds. All this had been passed to the One, and the One had understood, as it always does. The One gave directions and ideas, and the creature followed and listened. It also understood. It was alone, and would be so till it's return to the One._

_Until then, it was to learn, and assimilate. Until then, it was to hunt._

"Forty-five hundred?! It ain't electrum plated!"

"You know it's worth that. Genuine Imperial issue, it is. Full belt, too."

The little man was shuffling from foot to foot, wondering if he opened the price too high. This guy wasn't biting, and too much relied on the sale. The gun was bad news that he had to ditch as soon as he could. Word on the level was that a bounty was after the dealers, and just _having_ the thing made him a target. It almost made him curse the day he found it in the burned-out Arbites dozer tank after the last alley war. Almost. If this sale went down, he'd get out of this sub and never look back.

"Thirty-seven. I can't see it being worth more than that." Franz Haerlik was an exotic weapons collector, and he knew what he was doing. If this ganger was an actual dealer, he'd be paying twice the asking price. As it was, the little rat just wanted to be rid of the weapon, and that meant Franz would be 'acquiring' his latest treasure for a literal steal. He could just as easily take the weapon, seeing as how this man apparently didn't bring muscle, but it was the thrill of the haggle that Franz desired. Besides, if the deal began falling through, who would miss a lone ganger.

"Forty-two! You'll ne'er see a better deal this side of top." Jacques was beginning to get that bad feeling he gets right before the sirens shout in an Imperial clean-up. _Something was wrong._ He'd give it one more minute, then he was gone.

He had chosen this alleyway for a reason. There were no windows or obstacles to trap with, plus a bare ceiling above. He would be on even ground here. It was all perfectly clear, so why did he feel like he was being watched?

"Forty, and that's my final offer. I doubt you'd find many others local that'd even touch the thing, let alone offer you thirty for it." An arbiter issued heavy bolter was easy enough to come by, and maybe even worth four-thousand. But this, this was no standard issue model. This was high-grade Imperial class, possibly even from the Mars factories themselves. Franz knew his weapons and his histories, and this was a rare find indeed. Unfortunately, the rat was getting more and more nervous. He'd have to end this transaction, one way or another.

Jacques knew he could get more for the gun, but as the time wore on, the more he just wanted to be rid of it and get back to the club he called home. Maybe later, much later, he could enjoy his new wealth.

"You got the creds?" Jacques knew he did. This guy was a collector, and an arrogant one at that. He carried more creds than he should, but was confident enough in his personal arsenal, if not abilities, to take risks. If this was a normal situation, Jacques would make a contact and mark the guy for the locals. But not this time. The deal was almost done, yet Jacques felt like running as fast as he could away from here.

"Of course. Where's the weapon?"

"Creds first." _This was taking too long. He had to get out of here._

"You look nervous, friend. Is there a problem?" The ganger was making Franz nervous. He started feeling like he was being set up, and he didn't like that one bit. It may be time to end this transaction prematurely.

"Got a date. Now, gimme the creds and I'll tell you where the gun is." _Have to leave. Have to run far away._

"I'm sure she's a lovely woman," Franz said with a sneer as he pulled out a concealed snub-gun and pointed it at Jacque's face. "Now, the gun, if you'll please."

The ganger put his hands up instinctively. He was sweating and shaking. This was a set up, as far as Franz could tell. He had seen a shadow waver further down the passage, so he figured that the little man did bring muscle. He would make the rat pay, but not before he got what he came for.

"Listen, man, the gun's in the … the…what the…" Jacque had just noticed a shadow cross over the buyer's face. The man's sudden look of frozen terror was answered a second later by an impact to Jacques' back. It felt like he'd been sucker-punched from behind. A split second later, blood, his blood, fountained from his chest and washed over Franz as a bony arrow-head burst through his torso. He died with the image of a large blade, oddly shaped and bone-like, slicing off the buyer's hands and the gun they held. As he closed his eyes and gave in to the darkness, the screams began.

_Find the brood-leaders, the soft meat that controlled the prey. They would become part of the One and bring their thoughts and ideas with their assimilation. The weak were easily cowed, but the leaders needed removing before the One could bring order._

It had been a bad day for Varla DeCampt. Not only did she lose her favorite dagger in the alley raid, but she nearly ripped her latest stitches throwing the dagger into the throat of Baulson's personal thug. At least he didn't get his force-shield up in time. That would have really ruined her day.

The only bright spot was that the raid was successful. Her _Skull Staves_ made one hell of a dent in Baulson's territory by 'appropriating' his gun-runner's digs, which were close enough to her own territory that it was worth the risks involved. Of the fifteen juves and twenty-three blooded that went out, they only lost seven of the juves and eight blooded. Damn good job, if Varla did say so herself.

They wouldn't celebrate their victory just yet (at least not in the open). The stakes were raised, and the _Staves_ had to be even more wary now than ever before. With this raid, they raised themselves from a group of thugs to a gang worthy of a reputation. Yeah, this was the start of something good. Her mind wandered to the different ways she liked to celebrate a successful hit, and a rare smile passed her lips.

"You called, mistress?" It was one of the juves, nearly ready for blooding. Varla had to collect her thoughts back to business.

"Yeah. Have any of the prisoners been interrogated yet?"

"No ma'am. We was waiting for you."

"Wise choice. Let's get moving." Varla and the juve headed to the holding rooms, a group of old lavatories with bars welded across the privy doors. The smell was nauseating, and the interrogators were forced to wear re-breathers while conducting their business. This also had the added bonus of anonymity, a valuable weapon in under-hive dealings. Currently, there were three interrogators present. All blooded members that were wounded at one point and no longer fit for the hit and run operations the group were known for. They had earned the honor the hard way, and were proud of their work. Already, the three prisoners, two men and a woman were stripped, bound and chained upside down above the privy-holes. One of the men was already blubbering, with the fear of the contents of the latrine as his motivation. The other two stared expectantly at their captors.

Varla entered the room already wearing her re-breather. The juve was sent away, not being a full member yet thus not being worthy of the experience of interrogation. She strode casually to the first prisoner, the quiet man. He stared at her with unabashed hatred, his scarred face locked in a snarl of contempt. Varla had to give him credit. Here he was, naked and hanging upside down above a bowl of shit and the Emperor knew what else, and he was still defiant. Pity. She stabbed him through the heart with her short sword. She knew he would never talk, or at least tell the truth, and decided he would better serve her in dying than providing the other two as a solid rock to lean on. The other man, who up till now was just sniveling, began to full-out bawl and thrash about. The woman looked panicky, but controlled herself. Perfect, thought Varla. Looks like we're going to have a bit of fun after all.

Later that evening, Varla reclined in the chair at her desk. She poured herself another mug of brandy, watching the amber liquid swirl around in the cup. The interrogation went well. She found out where Baulson was holed up. This from the whining fool, and confirmed by the woman after Varla let him drown in the privy. As for the woman, she was let to live. She was unchained from the wall, blindfolded and marched naked out into the tunnels. If she survived, then she truly deserved to, and might even be welcomed into the _Staves_. If not, no loss except to Baulson's organization.

As she finished the cup of brandy, one piece of information the interrogation turned up kept spinning around in her head. Baulson was blaming her for the grisly death of two men in a nearby alley. One had his chest ripped open, the other was dismembered and his head was crushed. He said she was so reckless and insane that she even left their weapons behind. Truth was, Varla hadn't even heard about the murder until now. That irritated her. If anyone was doing any dying on her turf, she was going to be the one making it happen. It might be time for another sweep, to truly establish the _Staves'_ rep among the other gangs. Yeah, that would be nice. Now, about that celebration…

Two days later, the _Skull Staves_ went to war. Varla DeCampt was determined to continue with her lucky streak. Her stitches were healed, she found a new favorite dagger and she was itching to try it out. She and thirty-five members of the _Staves_, ten juves and twenty-five blooded headed out into the underhive looking for trouble. She'd be damned if she didn't find out who was murdering people in her territory. She wanted to be recognized and for the _Staves_ to be taken seriously. The way she saw it, the best way to do this started with Baulson.

The fact that no one stood opposing her group should have been warning enough, but Varla just took it as an insult. How _dare_ the others not post scouts and lookouts. Wasn't she good enough to be considered a threat? Someone would pay, and then they would take her seriously. Her group made it to Baulson's hideout without incident. No one opposed them, no one questioned them. Hell, no one even took a pot shot at them. All around, anyone they passed just put their heads down and moved along, not wanting trouble. This infuriated the leader of the Skull Staves.

Up until now, the quiet was unremarkable. The underhive usually bottled-up when a gang war was imminent. But now, as they neared the compound, the silence became deafening. Varla and her warriors started noticing how loud their own march was, and started moving more cautiously, unconsciously desiring to not disrupt the silence.

"What the frag's going on here? It's like walkin' into a tomb," Varla's second in command, Jesper Gunwal whispered to her. He was looking around, studying the shadows as if Baulson's entire cadre would fall on them at any moment. Throne, Varla thought, he's nervous! She had never seen him nervous before (well, there was that one time, but that had nothing to do with gang-wars). Jesper's nervousness, along with the silence was all it took for Varla to lose her patience. Just as she stood upright and was about to deliver a punch to Jesper's temple, her scouts rounded the corner, returning from their foray of the areas surrounding the compound. The looks on their faces made Varla stay her hand.

"Ma'am, sir, there's trouble. Baulson was hit 'afore we even left the house." The first scout, a young female, was white as a ghost. The tattoos across her face and shoulders stood out in stark relief, making her a harsh contrast to her fellow scout, who himself was nearly green with nausea.

"Already hit!" Her yells echoed off the corridors, the only sound in the region. Even Varla looked shocked by the noise, and instantly went to a whisper.

"What do you mean hit? Is there another gang in the area? You'd better explain now."

"Ma'am. We found several scouts and sentries dead along the upper passages. They were, well, cut apart, ma'am. Like some kinda animal or summat." The female looked away, trying to muster her strength. After finding his stomach, the man took up the slack.

"We carried on into the complex itself. There's no one alive. There's evidence of a firefight, but the only bodies there are Baulson's men. Some been shot, prolly in crossfire. Others, they'd been ripped up. Bad. Eaten, like…" He couldn't continue for the bile rising in his throat. Both scouts looked sick. With a nod from their boss, they walked to the side and sat down, leaning against a wall and each other for comfort.

"What the hell's going on here? Who's moving in on the turf we're moving in on?" Jesper voiced the question Varla was asking herself. Who would have the balls enough to go against _two_ hive gangs. Now, the real question was, what would it take to take them down, and in doing so, what affect would it have on the _Staves'_ reputation?

"Call back the other scout teams. We're mobilizing. Lock and load, my pretties."

The other two scout teams didn't return. They were called repeatedly over the com-beads, but no response, not even the obligatory double-click meaning 'acknowledged.' This had Varla fuming. It was one thing to take out her enemy, but to mess with her people was not good. She decided that her force needed motivation, to remove the doubt and fear she saw creeping into their midst.

"From here on in, the first one of you to bring down one of the bastards that's messing up our territory gets first crack at the weapon depot at Baulson't place!" Almost instantly, it was apparent that that was all the motivation her team needed. They had all heard about the stash that Baulson kept, and for one of them to get their hands on a power sword or heavy bolter…well, dreams can come true. Varla knew that was the right thing to say. She saw the smiles and determined looks that her gangers were sharing, and figured that her fighting force just set their sights on the prize, and were willing to die for a chance at winning.

"All right you greedy mugs, let's move!" Her com-bead message was heard loud and clear. As one, her group moved forward destined to find the enemy, whoever it was. Nothing could stop them now.

Varla raced to the end of the hallway, followed by the screams of her dying gangers. She reached the re-enforced door and slammed it shut behind her, effectively locking that _thing_ out there, but locking her in here as well. Alone. It didn't matter, because if she was where she figured she was, she'd be set to handle an army of the beasts. The large cell doors to the rear of the room confirmed her suspicions. She was in Baulson's personal armory. There were rows of guns and blades of all shapes and sizes here. From the innocuous las-pistol of the Imperial Guard to the tarantula sentry gun. From the field combat knife of the Arbites to the rare force sword of the Judges, and a few weapons she had never seen before, most likely of xenos origin. If she made it out of this, she would be rich from the alien weapons alone. She was so absorbed in her new fortune that she didn't even notice that the screaming stopped.

She was mentally inventorying what was in front of her, deciding what to keep for herself, what Jesper should have…

Jesper was dead.

Reality came crashing back, and Varla sagged against a wall. She recalled the massacre just minutes ago.

After separating her force up into hit teams to search the compound, reports started coming in about members disappearing, body parts scattered about, dead _Skulls_ found lying atop Baulson's dead. Then frantic reports of monsters in the dark, of a lone creature snaring a ganger with a spear, of wicked talons and blades emerging from the shadows to rend a person in half. Varla and Jesper had found Baulson's corpse, it's eyes gone and it's head mutilated. A scream frozen on it's dead face. Jesper took a step back, away from the carnage, out of Varla's line of sight. She heard him grunt, and as she turned to see what the problem was, he toppled over, his torso from collar bone to pelvis torn away. Behind his falling body, Varla could see the shape of a nightmare. A tall, six-limbed monster with two taloned hands and two huge blade hands which whickered above it's head. A tail, horribly barbed swished in the air behind it. The face was the stuff of horror stories. Tentacles writhed below it's six inhuman eyes, blood-covered and glistening with slime. The only sound it made was a slow, growling hiss. It lowered itself over Jesper's body and began groping his skull with it's tentacles. That was enough for her. Varla ran for her life, out a door and into the dim light of a corridor. She didn't know if the creature was behind her. She didn't look. She didn't dare look. Even when the screaming started, most likely from some of her gang that had come looking for her, she didn't look back.

Several hours had passed since she first stepped foot into the compound. The silence was complete. She could hear nothing from outside the vault, not a scream, not even a whimper. Silent. Varla decided that her knuckles had regained enough feeling to go back to trying to open the gun-storage again. When she first started trying to break the lock, her patience was at a premium. Then after several failed attempts, she did what she did best, she tried to beat the doors open. All that did was cause pain. Not something she needed right then. She tried to keep the monster out of her thoughts, but every time she closed her eyes out of exhaustion, it was there waiting for her. After one of these times, she thought she heard some scratching at the door. It reminded her of the rats that used to gather outside the back entrance to the bar her parents owned on the third level. Always wanting scraps, and when you took pity on them and threw some out, they only wanted more. Stupid rats. She'd make them stop begging, scratching at her door.

She went over to the door and pulled it open. No rats. The only thing that greeted her was a gust of fetid wind, rotten with the smell of death and waste. This brought her mind back to the present, and she fell backward away from the open door. It took her a moment, but Varla was finally able to gather her wits to her enough to close the portal and lock it tight again.

"You're slipping, old girl," she berated herself. She needed to occupy her mind with trying to get that gun vault open. She turned around to discover she wasn't alone anymore. Standing before her was the creature. She was dumbfounded. How could a creature so big make it past her without her seeing it? Then she realized with a combination of fascination and terror that it had been here all along. It beat her to the vault, and had been observing her this whole time. It's scaly skin shifted hues as if to answer her question. It blended with its surroundings, making it nearly invisible.

The two adversaries stared at each other. The creature's six inhuman faceted yellow eyes regarded Varla with a maddeningly emotionless gaze. For her part, Varla sent her mind racing, trying to figure out how to survive this. Her mind failed her. All of the terror and violence and loss of comrades and the presence of the alien killer standing in front of her made Varla falter in her concentration, and she didn't have the will left to recover.

All those bright, shiny and expensive weapons. Within view but not touch. Varla was mesmerized, and this time, allowed her mind its journeys. She'd traveled far and lived long. As the creature closed in, she thought not about gangs or warfare, but about home. Her real home.

_The creature hears the calling of the One, and answers as it was made to. All it has learned and all it has seen is absorbed into the One, and the One is pleased. There is but one more task to complete before the arrival, and the One knows it can rely on it's child._

_The creature find's itself a meal and a place from where to observe until all is ready. From the meal, it learns of soft meat worthy of the attentions of the One, and marks it's scent as prey. The One would help it's child in the hunt this time._

_No emotions cross the creature's conscience, only determination._

The room was dim, with a single glow globe hanging from the exposed structure of the ceiling. There was only one door, a mirror and a table with an old plasti chair. The chair was occupied by Halson McMasters, and he wasn't in a good mood. He had been held here in this room, with a dwindling cup of tepid water and no food or smokes for nearly five hours. He knew why he was here, as an eye-witness to the killing of an Arbites Judge. They needed his memories of the incident, because unfortunately for him, he was the only person in a three-block radius willing to talk. He was beginning to change his mind. Not only would this put him on the bad side of Baulson's gangers, but it would mark him as a tool of the Arbites. Basically, he was signing his own death warrant. The Arbite General promised asylum to any willing to talk, and McMasters took the offer. He would ask for off-world transport as payment. _Screw asylum, get me off this Hive and you have a deal._ They agreed, and brought him here under full armed escort. He actually felt important, especially since the General addressed him by name when they finally arrived at the fortress. Then they put him in here, and he was forgotten.

He was just about to throw the water cup, now empty, at a mirror when the door opened. Framed by the heavy plasteel door frame was a tall man in a long, black coat of some type of leather. His hair was slicked back and braided below his neck, and on his head he wore a beret of the same material as the coat. He wore a black armored body glove and knee-high military boots He wasn't necessarily an impressive man to look at, but once he locked eyes with a person, they never forgot him. His eyes were of the lightest blue, making it almost impossible to not look at his pupils. They drew a person in and held him fast.

McMasters didn't even see the Arbites behind the man until one of them spoke.

"Sir, you are free to go now. Your help has been appreciated." The Arbite followed the tall man into the room and stood next to Halson, who noticed the heavy shotgun the officer carried.

"Wait a minute here. What about the deal to send me off-world? I offered to help as long as…"

"We know, but we no longer need your help, sir. An Arbite trooper will escort you home, and we will post double patrols in your sector. Now, if you will please follow me, sir." There was no argument from this point, and McMasters knew it. You don't argue with the Arbites. He had to know, though.

"So, I guess you caught the murdering scum then," he asked of the man in black. The man looked at him with those eyes, smiled, and then…

Halson McMasters woke up in his dingy apartment. He had had one of the weirdest dreams ever, and it all involved men in black armor. It was then that he decided to stop smoking lho sticks.

"I take it you found out who the murderer is, then?" Arbite Judge Greely didn't truly appreciate the man in black. This was a local investigation, to be handled by his district's finest. They didn't need this man's help. He showed up with an Imperial charter claiming right of investigation and has been hovering about ever since. As if his presence wasn't bad enough, the man had comrades that never left his sight. One was a hulking being that wore robes covering all but his mottled chin. Another was a female, most likely an ex-arbite from the way she carried herself, armed to the teeth and quiet as death. The last member of the group was a ganger, plain and simple. He had the tattoos and scars that marked him as a blooded, but not of any local hive gang. Probably off-world, Greely suspected. Great. More gangers thinking they're tough as nails.

The man in black, who introduced himself as Special Investigator Hawkin glanced at Greely and shrugged. He was lost in thought, and wanted quiet. Greely hated the fact that his authority had been overstepped. When the outsiders first arrived, Greely was briefed by General Arkus that all information and assistance was to be provided to the 'inspector' and his team. Greely never complained or questioned the general. His job was to do his job and follow orders. He was in charge of one of the most elite sweep teams in the hive, and a well respected judge in his own right, and now, he was made to answer to some haughty off-worlder.

Part of why he didn't complain was that he had been around long enough to know that this was no ordinary 'investigator,' but most likely one of the Emperor's Holy Inquisitors. Every Imperial servant knows that you do not argue with an Inquisitor. Not if you enjoy living, that is.

"Yes, Judge Greely. You are correct."

Greely turned away from the papers he was studying and looked at Hawkin, who was leaning against the bookshelf in the Judge's office.

"Sir?"

Hawkin pulled a medallion from under his body armor and presented it to Judge Greely. The polished and crossed 'I' in the center said all that needed said. Greely stood up from his desk and came to smart attention. He was officially in the presence of one of the Emperor's agents, and had to offer the highest respect and courtesies.

"Please, Anson, may I call you Anson? Please, sit down. I am in your precinct, and this is your world. I am not here to interfere, but to offer my team's assistance." The Inquisitor returned the medallion to his body armor and smiled at Greely, a friendly and comforting gesture that the judge found slightly disturbing. A thought occurred to him just then. How did the Inquisitor know he suspected his true identity?

"Our man McMasters named a local thug lord called Baulson as the leader of the individual who killed your officer. I assume you are aware of Baulson's location," Inquisitor Hawkin asked over the top of some papers from Greely's desk he was reading, not giving him a chance to ask his question.

"Yes sir. He's well known to our office. Anytime we get close to him, he runs to high ground. We've done sweeps of the undercity, and are on the verge of his capture." A stinging point in the Judge's side was that they have never been able to capture Baulson. Whatever tactic they used, he always managed to slip through their fingers.

"My team is prepared to flush him out, with your permission, of course. If you wish to accompany us, you are more than welcome. We know where Baulson's located, and one of my men is already in position." That was the first time Greely noticed that the ganger wasn't nearby. Hawkin's thug had managed somehow to slip out of the precinct fortress and was already in position. _How the hell did he do that _the judge was asking himself. "My operative, who goes by the quaint name of Spike, is from Necromunda. No ganger knows how to move through the underhive like a Necromundan."

Hawkin suddenly looked troubled, and turned away from the Judge. Greely also noticed a look of question on the woman's face as the Inquisitor turned her way.

"If we are to go, it must be now, Judge Greely. Are you coming?" The Inquisitor was already turning for the door, his team having already exited.

"Damn right I'm coming. Can't let you Inquisitors have all the glory." Judge Greely followed the Inquisitor out, securing several extra clips for his bolter and a force maul, in case things got messy. Which in a hive gang hideout, was guaranteed.

"I needn't tell you that whatever we find is of the utmost secrecy and import to our Holy Emperor and his Imperium," Inquisitor Hawkin said over his shoulder as the small group made it's way through the compound that was Baulson's headquarters. The going was easy, as it seemed that anyone who would stand in their way was dead, and the dead were everywhere. Greely recognized Baulson's men alongside other gangers, probably from one of the rival groups like the _Death Masks_ or the _Skull Staves_. Some were killed by small arms fire. Others were killed with far greater trauma. Severed limbs, evisceration, crushed heads. This wasn't a murder scene, it was a massacre.

"I have to send word to the precinct to get a clean-and-sweep team down here," Judge Greely said quietly as they stood in the middle of a large group of the dead.

"No Anson, you don't. Not until we are done with our investigation." The Inquisitor's tone made the Judge look at him. He was staring at him intently, as if angry. Judge Greely forgot all about contacting the precinct. The Inquisitor's agenda was top priority.

The woman, who was introduced as Lucenda, and the robed giant Tuomos entered the room from a side passage. The giant took up a position at the entrance, and stood perfectly still. Lucenda came forward and handed the Inquisitor a data slate. After reading it, he nodded to the woman who then took a position next to Tuomos.

"Do you understand your duty as an enforcer of the Imperial belief, Judge Greely?"

"Yes, Inquisitor, I do. I have for longer than you have been alive. Why do you ask?" This situation as wearing on Greely. He knew his job, and didn't appreciate being grilled like a common cadet.

"Forgive me, Anson, but you may become privy to some sensitive information here, and I need to be sure where you stand. You understand, don't you?" With that, the Inquisitor turned and exited down the corridor with Tuomos in tow. This was all starting to get a bit strange, thought Greely.

"Sir, please understand the situation. We deal with many different enemies of the Imperium, but the worst are the enemies within. The Inquisitor just wants to make sure where you stand." Lucenda had taken a stick of bean gum from a wrapper and started chewing on it. Greely recognized this as an old Arbite trick used to alleviate pressure drops during high-speed pursuits. Many officers chewed the stuff out of habit.

"Where were you stationed before signing on with the Inquisitor? You are ex-Arbite, aren't you?"

Lucenda raised an eyebrow in appreciation of the guess.

"The Inquisitor likes to recruit from Necromunda, sir. Mainly because, as he puts it, we've probably seen it all."

"And Tuomos?"

"Well, I doubt he was recruited the same way as me and Spike. Where he came from, I have no idea." That's all Lucenda would say on the matter, and as if to clarify, turned and started heading for the passageway.

"We're being requested. If you'll follow me, sir."

The room was impressive. It was a lounge of sorts, with a bar and holo-projectors. What made it different were the cases of weapons that lined the far wall. Weapons of every type, from civilian to military issued to…

"These are of Xenos origin, Judge Greely. Your man Baulson was a gun-runner and dealt in the trade and procurement of exotic weaponry. I suspect that's what got him killed. Messily, at that." The Inquisitor was standing at the end of a row of weapons the Judge had little recognition of. There were some that were long and fluted, with intricate and almost beautiful patterning along their lengths. Some were boxy and solid, with apparent weapon shape and form, the difference being that the handles were suited for three fingers. He recognized others that were covered with wicked barbs and blades, the unloaded guns themselves could be used as weapons. There were so many of varying size and shape, and even a few that were difficult to look at, their etched casings disturbing.

"Now you know my caution in this matter, Anson. These weapons need removed and disposed of quickly, before any of the other local thugs decide to make a go at them," he said this as he looked at a woman's body on the floor in the corner. Her head was nearly unrecognizable, but Greely knew her from her tattoos.

"Varla DeCampt, leader of the _Skull Staves_. Looks like you overstepped your bounds, old girl. That isn't arms fire that made those wounds, Inquisitor. One of your weapons here," Greely asked, indicating the rows of alien technology.

"He's right, sir. A lot of the victims weren't killed by conventional means. I was thinking swords or power weapons, but I just can't tell with some of them." Lucenda was looking at the corpse, checking for any residual evidence.

"Chickee's got a point, boss. There's something more here." Spike made his entrance without a sound, yet Greely was the only one taken aback by his sudden appearance. Lucenda shot Spike a look, probably over the 'chickee' title, and he blew her a kiss. Before this could turn into an all-out riot, the Inquisitor stepped forward and walked to Tuomos, who was again standing quietly at the door.

"Then if that's the case, let's ready ourselves for the worst." And with that, he unhooked the robes covering Tuomos to reveal a gun-servitor, both man and machine. His arms were autocannons and his shoulders housed grenade launchers. The only part that still looked human was his face, which was impassive and unfeeling.

"You are needed, old friend. Overwatch, delta seven niner." Tuomos turned and headed down the corridor, his heavy footsteps echoing in the distance.

"That should give us warning of any that approach. Lucenda, be a dear and offer the Judge a piece of your gum. Spike, you know the drill."

"No thanks, I…"

"Take it, sir. You'll need it," Lucenda said as she handed Anson a piece of gum. He shrugged, unwrapped it and started chewing. He could never understand how the other Arbites could eat this stuff. Spike was already happily chewing away, blowing a bubble and letting it pop noisily.

Inquisitor Hawkin smirked at Spike's levity. He then knelt over the body of Varla DeCampt. As he put his hands over her ruined face, the temperature in the room dropped, and the pressure changed dramatically.

"Holy throne! What the hell…" Greely was shivering and reaching for his pistol when he felt a hand on his arm. It was Spike, the ganger having come to stand next to him just in case.

"Relax there, bub. Boss is a Psyker. A reader. He's talkin' to the dead girl. Maybe she'll tell us what's goin' on in this slaughterhouse."

Judge Anson Greely had seen many things in his long and eventful career. From gang wars to Redemptionist uprisings to Death cult massacres. This was the first time he was exposed to a psyker of this level. Generally shunned by Imperial society, psykers kept hidden or became the target of 'witch-hunts' to be executed publicly by members of the Imperial cult. To think a psyker as an agent of the Emperor was new to Greely. He watched in fascination as the Inquisitor, his eyes turned up into his head, mouthed quietly what may have been a conversation with the dead.

The serene look on his face became twisted and his lips stopped moving. He cocked his head, as if listening to a far off voice. Hawkin's hands started tembling and blood seeped out of his nose and eyes. This can't be normal, thought Greely. Something's wrong.

Just then, Lucenda made a dive for the Inquisitor in an attempt to get him away from the corpse, thinking maybe it was corrupt. She had seen the great enemy of the Imperium close up, and recognized the signs of warp taint. The inquisitor started screaming incoherently, as if trying to push away something horrible from his mind. Spike came forward and attempted to hold the Inquisitor steady so Lucenda could administer aid if needed.

As suddenly as it started, the screaming stopped. Inquisitor Hawkin lay very still on the floor, his team mates at his side. His eyes lost all focus and drifted around aimlessly. His chest heaving in great gasps started slowing beyond the point of normality. Greely suspected he was dying.

Lucenda was opening up a med kit she carried in her field pack, hoping to offer pain reducers and maybe some stim-pumpers. Hawkin was quietly babbling and rocking his head back and forth, blood still streaming from his face. The ex-Arbite leaned over him, hoping he was giving instructions, that maybe he wasn't as bad off as she thought. He whispered some words that only she could hear, let out an agonized choke, and died with a look of horror on his face. That look was repeated on Lucinda's face as she looked up at Spike and Greely.

"What is it, girl? What are we facing?" Spike was upset, more upset than anyone had ever seen him. He respected and admired the Inquisitor, and now, he wanted vengeance. Lucenda looked at him and opened her mouth to talk when a heavy burst of cannon fire from down the hallway interrupted whatever she was about to say. The fire was aimed out into the complex. Short bursts echoed all around, making talking impossible. The bursts stopped with a metal groan, followed by a loud crash. The three remaining party members ran for the hallway, with Spike taking point. As they made their way to the end of the passageway, they saw Tuomos lying on the floor, sparks shooting out of his torso where his head should have been.

"What in the warp-hell is going on here?!" Greely had had enough and wanted answers. He faced Lucenda, expecting her to talk. Instead, she turned away and headed for the exit.

"We have to go. Now!"

"Lucy, what is it? Tell me, dammit!

"Tyranids, Spike! Fraggin' bugs, okay! Now move it!"

Greely didn't understand what they were talking about. He just looked at Tuomos' ravaged body and at the pulverized walls where the autocannons had left their mark. What was the servitor aiming at? What did it see? And what the hell is a Tyranid? He was about to voice his questions when Lucenda stopped her advance and brought her riot gun up, firing in a semi-automatic arc in front of her. Without second thought, Spike brought his auto-pistol to bear, firing around Lucenda, not having a target, but not taking a chance she was wrong. Greely still didn't understand, but the actions of the other two were all he needed. He thumbed the power stud on his force maul and released the safety on his bolt pistol. Whatever was out there wasn't going to get away.

Lucenda was still standing in the doorway. She stopped firing, and was looking around cautiously. Nothing there. She could have sworn she saw something move off to her right. Maybe she was just jumpy. The death of the Inquisitor was a shock to her system. Spike came up next to her and swept the room looking for a target. They looked at each other, former ganger and ex-Arbite. Two enemies that became friends under a shared cause. They both knew what was likely to happen, so with nothing but a wink, Spike headed into the room to scout ahead. Lucenda turned to find Judge Greely behind her, armed and ready to fight an enemy he couldn't possibly understand. She motioned him back into the hallway, away from the open room and the body of Tuomos.

"Okay, now what is a Tyranid and why is it here," he asked, needing answers to solidify his nerves. Lucenda crouched down to pull some auspex monitors from her pack and handed one to Greely.

"I'm sure you've heard of Orks and Eldar and Tau. Am I right, sir?"

"Yes, vaguely. Admittedly, the only xenos I've ever had the 'pleasure' of running into was an Eldar pirate at a spaceport about a decade ago. I recognized one of the pistols back there as one of their splinter weapons."

"Yeah, lovely bunch there. Well, the 'nids make the Eldar pirates seem like Ascension Day bouquets in comparison. What we have here is most likely a vanguard organism, like a scout. Probably a Mantis Killer or a Genestealer. Either way, it spells bad news for this rock."

"What does that mean?"

"It means," Lucenda said with a grunt as she reloaded and cocked her gun, "that the promotion you were getting probably won't mean shit. Sir."

"Promotion? Wait, why can't we just kill this thing and be done with it? If it's just one creature, it shouldn't be too hard to get rid of."

"Just one? Here, maybe. There are seventeen hives on Eltherion. Each one has had reports of missing persons and murders sky-rocket in the last three months. I'm guessing that the fleets are looking for fresh meat, and they have their sights set on Eltherion. So to prepare, they sent a few of their murder-machines down to eliminate some competition and start trouble. It's easier to wreck a place that's already weak."

Greely was shocked. Nothing he had done or seen had prepared him for the fact that an alien threat meant to destroy everything he had worked so hard to protect for the past seventy years. His first thought was to contact the precinct fortress and mobilize the Arbite forces. Then he realized he'd need to explain why this was necessary, and the panic it would cause would be devastating. He'd be doing the alien's work for them. His mind went through several other scenarios, all with the same conclusion. Chaos and panic.

"Have you ever faced this xenos before," he asked Lucenda, hoping she had a solution to the problem of what to do first. He didn't like not being in control of a situation or being able to make a decision, but he knew when he was out of his league.

"Yeah. Awhile ago. Genestealer infestation of a star fort."

"And the outcome?" She was studying her auspex, making adjustments. Greely had the distinct impression she was avoiding his eyes for some reason.  
"We had to vaporize the station with long-range torpedoes. No other way, once the 'nids get a solid foothold. The only other time I have come close to them was when we passed by a system they had just overrun the prior year. Nothing but empty rocks left. Planets with billions of citizens rendered down to their base components. All to power the fleet for the next system."

"So, what do we do? Roll over and let them come, or do we fight? I prefer the fight, myself." The judge and former Arbite were by this time checking and re-checking their weapons. Their auspexes were set to maximum sensitivity, and it seemed as though they were ready for anything. Lucenda turned to Greely and offered him a smile. This wouldn't be easy for the Judge.

"Yeah, we fight. We fight our way to the surface, get to the Inquisitor's ship and get the hell away from this place. Then, with the full weight of the Inquisition behind us, we alert the Imperial bastions in the sector of a possible Tyranid attack. After that, we wait."

"We run!? I'm sorry ma'am, but an Arbite doesn't run when the going gets rough." Judge Greely was offended that Lucenda would even suggest that course of action. This was his world. He wouldn't abandon it to some alien race just because an Inquisitor's henchman said to. There had to be a better way.

"Okay, fine then. You stay and alert your forces if that's what you want to do. I'm not forcing you to do anything. Spike and me, we're for continuing the work the Inquisitor started. Until we reach the surface, we're in this together, sir. So, if you have a problem with my methods or plans, then you can just…"

At that moment, Spike came crashing into the room where Tuomos's body lay, blood running from a hole in his shoulder and firing behind himself with his good hand. He was running for his life back to where Lucenda and Greely were when he stopped suddenly, lurched to the side and was pulled forcibly backwards out of sight.

"No. Spike, No!" Lucenda knew it was too late for her friend, but she needed to do something. Anything. She backed into the gun room, leveled her weapon up the hallway and opened up, not at an enemy but at Tuomas' body. Greely caught on to what she was doing and fired his bolter at the body as well, hopefully between the two of them they would be able to detonate the grenades in the shoulder-mounted launchers. Unfortunately and surprisingly, something else had the same thoughts, and Tuomas was pulled away from the line of sight.

Quiet descended on the room as the last echoes of gunfire faded away. The only sound was of falling debris and the heavy-breathing of the two surviving members of the Inquisitor's group. Greely and Lucenda were running out of options, and they had just spent most of their ammo on a corpse. Ammo. Guns. Lucenda jumped up from her firing position and ran to the gun cases. They were locked until Greely brought his force maul to bear, destroying the re-enforced glass and a few of the civilian models as well.

"At least it's open now," he said to Lucenda's look of shock. She recovered quickly and grabbed the boxy xenos rifle Greely had seen earlier.

"Tau weapons have a sighting system on them that marks and sends the fired rounds at the 'painted' target. If I can just figure out the unlocking sequence, we'll be in business." The two agents were studying the weapon so closely that they forgot the entrance to the room. Simultaneously, they both spun around, weapons leveled at the door, expecting an attack. Nothing was there. They were alone. Lucenda went back to studying the Tau rifle while Greely watched the door, ready to open up with his bolter if needed. He didn't live this long as an Arbite judge by not being careful and listening to his instincts, so when he noticed a slight shake in the shadow to his left, he turned and fired without aiming. He was rewarded by a small spray of purplish ichor. The creature was camouflaged against the wall, and although the shot only grazed it, it was now exposed. It jumped straight up to the ceiling, too fast for Greely to track, and landed next to him. He turned in time to have his gun hand crushed in it's inhuman grip, his bolter falling to the floor in pieces. Lucenda was aiming the rifle at the Mantis Killer, trying desperately to get it to fire. The creature casually flicked out one of it's massive upper arm blades, and ex-arbiter Lucenda Graveas fell to the floor, her head neatly severed.

Judge Anson Greely looked the monster in the eyes, and saw not only his death, but the death of his world. The Tyranids were coming, and he wouldn't be here to stop them.

_The One was pleased. It's children had completed their tasks, and soon, the harvest would begin. The One would welcome it's own back into its embrace, to add their life to the fleet. The creature understood it's part, and accepted it's role without complaint. It would be reborn to serve the One again, someday._


End file.
